


so into you

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Car Sex, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom Clarke, F/F, Face-Sitting, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Sub Lexa, Subspace, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, very faint bloodplay, very faint gagging, very faint subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: Lexa's firm puts her up at a fancy hotel for the weekend. Clarke comes along. This is pretty dirty, check the tags.





	so into you

**Author's Note:**

> no beta 
> 
> this fills several prompts I got over the past week? I hope everyone is happy with the result. <3

“Give it up,” Lexa says, far too mild for Clarke’s taste, her hand gentle in Clarke’s wet hair. “It’s never going to work.”

Clarke twists her face against the water spray and glowers up at Lexa. “Can you not sound so calm when I’m eating you out? It’s affecting my confidence.”

Lexa pats her head, comforting. “You’re very sexy. But you’re also going to drown.” She pulls Clarke to her feet and they kiss, soaked and steamy, fingers pruned. Clarke’s elbow knocks into the side of the shower, clanging and loud and painful, and she curses.

“Okay,” she admits, flipping the water off and reaching over to wring Lexa’s thick curls out. “You were right, I admit it.”

Lexa doesn’t even try to look less smug. “Too small,” she repeats, victorious, “too cramped, will never work.”

Clarke grumbles. “Fine. But I haven’t given up. We just need to find the right position.”

Lexa flops a towel over her head, grinning when Clarke sputters. “Of course, Clarke. That’s two, you owe me.”

Clarke drags the towel through her hair and then traces a bead of water, flowing from Lexa’s shoulder across her chest, down a gently sloping breast. She trails a nail across Lexa’s nipple. “Oh,” she says, promising and low, “I won’t forget.”

++

Clarke wakes up coughing. She staggers to the bathroom, retching weakly, then drags herself to the couch and flicks the television on. It’s only a few minutes of muted late night infomercial before she hears shuffling. Lexa comes into view, wrapped up in a blanket, squinty-eyed. “Clarke?” she asks, sounding faintly confused, and Clarke has to smile. Lexa is never at her best after just waking up.

“Go back to bed,” she murmurs, nudging at Lexa’s thigh with her toe. “I was coughing, didn’t want to wake you.”

Lexa tries to open her eyes wider and fails, mostly. “Still?”

“Mm.” Clarke wiggles down lowers into the couch. “I’ll be fine in a few days. Dangers of working in a hospital, huh?” Lexa works an arm free of her blanket roll and flails in the general direction of Clarke’s face. Clarke ducks. “Hey!”

“You feel warm,” Lexa says, seriously.

“You’re touching your own forehead, Lexa. Go to bed.”

Lexa flops onto her legs instead, knocking into Clarke hard and propping her head on Clarke’s stomach. She yawns, wide and sleepy, and nuzzles Clarke’s hip. “Stay here in case you need anything,” she mumbles.

Clarke slides her fingers into Lexa’s hair, scritching gently at Lexa’s scalp, and Lexa shivers, pressing closer. “What are you going to do,” Clarke teases, “spit in my mouth if I say I want some water?” Lexa doesn’t answer and Clarke peers down at her: she’s already asleep, snuffling.

++

Clarke shuffles out of the shower, breathing a little easier after extended time in the hot soothing steam, and Lexa’s already gone to work but there’s a brown paper bag sitting on the counter with her name scrawled across it, _Clarke_ with a tiny heart under the arch of the ‘r’. Clarke peeks inside: soup and salad and an apple, the cheeky shit, and underneath all that a saran wrapped cookie, oatmeal chocolate chip. “You’re so good to me,” Clarke sighs to herself as she shrugs on her jacket and shoves on her shoes.

She checks her phone during a mid morning break and Lexa’s texted her, a picture of Octavia leaning threatening over a hunched over recent law grad in a suit and the pink heart emoticon, along with a quick note asking how she feels. Clarke taps out a response, adds a liberal number of hearteye emojis, and snapchats Lexa a video of her eating the apple with a pouty look. 

++

“They kept me on consult,” Clarke complains. “So boring.” She tosses her bag onto the table and drops her keys onto the hook by the door, leaning against the wall to kick her shoes off.

“Probably because coughing on patients is frowned upon.”

“You and your logic.” Clarke comes up behind Lexa at the stove and rests her chin on Lexa’s shoulder. “What’s for eating?”

“Soup.” Clarke makes a grumbly noise and Lexa half smiles at her, turning to kiss her cheek. “It’s good for you. Real chicken stock.”

“I’m not that sick.”

Lexa turns all the way and kisses her properly, fond and sweet. “Go change. We can eat on the couch and watch those terrible shows you like.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy them.” Clarke sticks her finger into the pot and licks it, dodging Lexa’s half-hearted swat. 

She changes into sweats and some old shirt from college, holes in the hem, and they curl up together. Clarke finds an old rerun and Lexa mutters about how long trials take and leading the witnesses and glares, fierce, when the judges wax on poetic. Clarke’s nodding off after just one episode, and barely wakes up when she feels Lexa stand. Lexa wraps a blanket around her and leaves a mug of tea steaming on the coffee table, kissing Clarke’s forehead gently before turning the lights off. Clarke cracks open an eye to peer at the clock and groans. “It’s not even eight. It Octavia asks, we had hot monkey sex.”

She feels Lexa pat her cheek, indulgent. “Sure, Clarke.”

++

Clarke’s sitting in traffic when her phone rings. “Hey baby. Surgery ran late, but I’m on my way home, and feeling much better, if you know what I mean. And what I mean is hot monkey sex.”

“Gross,” Anya says. “I’m taking baby sister out to tie one on, she’ll be home late. And I don’t mean hot monkey sex.”

Clarke sighs. “Why do you have Lexa’s phone, Anya.”

“She said she didn’t have any nudes of you, and I know that’s a lie, so--” there’s sounds of a scuffle; when Lexa speaks she’s slightly out of breath. 

“Clarke. I’m going for drinks with Anya. Are you feeling well enough to be home alone?”

“If I can operate a motor vehicle and a scalpel in a baby’s chest, I hope I can manage leftovers and trashy reality television.”

“Mm,” Lexa agrees, loose and easy. Clarke’s eyes narrow.

“How much have you had to drink? It’s barely eight.”

“We won the case at four.”

“Take an Uber home and text me if you’ll be out after midnight?”

“She will!” Anya shouts, and Lexa sighs. 

“Love you,” she murmurs, and Clarke smiles, fond.

“Love you too.”

++

The door wakes Clarke up at two in the morning, and she sits up, slightly disoriented. She hears the lock click, and Lexa muttering to herself as she walks into the walls. She staggers into view, blinking heavily and rapidly, and stares at Clarke for five whole seconds, blank, before smiling. “Clarke,” she breathes, and stumbles across to collapse half on the couch half off. “I missed you.”

Clarke sniffs her hair and grimaces. “You smell like scotch and cigars.”

“Mm.” Lexa licks her throat, makes a pleased noise, and goes limp. “Gotta tell you something in the morning, ‘kay?”

Clarke sits up, Lexa a heavy dead weight on top of her. “No, Lex. Bed.”

“Okay,” Lexa agrees. She doesn’t move.

“Lexa. _Lexa_.”

“Mm.” Lexa gropes her, uncoordinated. “Boobs.” 

“I’m not carrying you.” Clarke pokes her cheek. “Wake up.”

“Sshh,” Lexa says, her palm flopping over Clarke’s mouth. “Sleep.”

++

“What happened?” Lexa asks, sitting up on the couch. “How’d I get here.”

“You passed out.” Clarke presses a glass of orange juice into Lexa’s hand. “On top of me. Eight hours ago.”

Lexa frowns. “Were we having sex?”

“No.”

“Good.” Lexa stretches, yawns until her jaw cracks. She drains the juice and stands. “Feeling better?”

“Yes. And I’m mad at you. My back hurts. You only rolled your fatass off me two hours ago.”

Lexa pulls her closer by the wrist. “I’ll make it up to you. Round three of attempted shower sex?”

Clarke brightens. “You know just what to say.”

++

“Okay,” Clarke mutters, half slumped, Lexa’s arm around her waist, her ribs smarting. “Fuck. I’m calling it.”

“Three you owe me,” Lexa says, gleeful. 

Clarke glares. “Shouldn’t you be hungover?” 

++

Lexa gets a call and pinches her forehead, hissing into the phone while Clarke slips her earrings in. When Lexa turns around she looks like a kicked dog and Clarke sighs. “You have to cancel,” she says, gentle. “It’s okay.”

“I know you got those reservations through Raven,” Lexa mutters. “They shouldn’t go to waste.” She brightens. “Anya can go with you.”

Clarke stares at her. She steps close and feels Lexa’s forehead with the back of her hand. Lexa swats at her, rolling her eyes. “I know she’s like, your sister--”

“No,” Lexa denies, looking determinedly in the other direction. “Of course not, we barely tolerate each other. At best, we--”

“Lexa please. You’ve already cancelled date night, don’t add to this with your lies.” Lexa grumbles, and Clarke pats her shoulder. “We just don’t get along.” Lexa looks faintly dejected, and then like she’s trying to hide it, and Clarke folds. “Fine. Text her to meet me there.”

Lexa beams. “Anya doesn’t really get along with anyone,” she says as she scoops up her keys and her phone. “So it’s not really about you.”

“It’s a little about me,” Clarke mutters, and kisses Lexa’s cheek. Lexa doesn’t deny it and Clarke pinches her. Lexa laughs. 

“I’ll be home late,” she says, with a last sigh. “You look beautiful.”

“I know. Go get ‘em.”

++

Anya cracks a joke about Clarke’s black dress, long slits up the sides, and Clarke tells her sweetly that it’s her favorite because Lexa can get it off her in less than three full seconds. Anya sets up her menu so that it’s blocking her view of Clarke’s face.

“So,” she says, after the waiter has come, judged, taken their order, and tugged the menu out of Anya’s grip with a firm flat eyed minimum wage stare. “You and Lexa are serious.”

Clarke spreads butter on a roll to busy her hands. “Well I wasn’t sure when we moved in together, but now, one year after that and after six years of being together, I’m starting to realize this is a pretty long one night stand.”

Anya mutters to herself. “Fine.” She crosses her arms over her chest. They eat in silence.

“Well,” Clarke says, “this was great. Let’s never do it again.”

“Agreed,” Anya says. Then, oddly she extends her hand. “Until the engagement party.”

Clarke’s eyes go wide. Then she smiles. She shakes Anya’s hand; Anya half quirks her lips at her in response. She’s turned away when Anya calls her back. “Hey--” Anya winks at her, and it’s an unfamiliar look on her face; Clarke has never seen her look playful, conspiratorial, not in Clarke’s favor, anyway. “Ask Lexa about the video she showed me last night.”

++

Lexa is brushing her teeth for the fifth time that day, muttering about Anya and her cigars and week long aftertaste, and Clarke is rummaging for the thick wool socks she likes when her fingers bump the box, slim and flat and thin, plain black. Lexa keeps it under the socks or buried in the lock drawer in the desk, depending on her mood. Locked drawer means no, sock drawer means she’s considering it, and Clarke’s breathing picks up when she slips it out, tracing the hinges. 

Lexa pads out of the bathroom, her hair still damp from the shower, her tank top clinging and her sweats hanging loose on her hips. She blinks when she sees what’s in Clarke’s hands. “You’re still recovering,” she mutters, blushing. “We should wait.”

“I’m fine.” Clarke puts the box down on the bedside table and reaches out a hand; Lexa waits only a single second before taking it, and they lie down next to each other, warm and cuddled, lazy kisses, and Clarke wiggles down, tugging her shirt up so Lexa’s eyes can glaze over and she can lick across Clarke’s chest, sucking at her nipples and nipping, biting, teasing, until Clarke writhes under her, gasping and pleading; “Lower, please, Lexa--don’t tease.”

Lexa nips her thighs after she tugs Clarke’s sweats down, just low enough for Clarke to spread her legs for Lexa’s tongue, her clever fingers; Clarke’s eyes roll back into her head and she loses herself to the thumping pulse of her own heart, Lexa’s soft noises. Lexa’s tongue is firm and soft and her fingers are long and crooked and Clarke comes, arching, Lexa’s name stuck in her throat. Lexa kisses her way up Clarke’s body, dropped gentle presses of her lips; hipbones, ribcage, sternum, neck. 

“Gimme a minute,” Clarke rasps, and Lexa settles against the side of her throat, licking aimlessly, pleased. Clarke tugs at the hem of Lexa’s top. “Take this off?” Lexa lifts off her, pulling it off one handed, and Clarke trails her fingers up Lexa’s belly to her chest, skimming. “Play with me?” Clarke asks, a low murmur, and Lexa half-frowns.

“You’re--” she starts, and Clarke drops a finger to her lips. 

“I feel good,” Clarke promises, quiet. “I want to make you feel good. It’s been awhile.” A month, at least, by Clarke’s recollection. Lexa falls back into her, and they kiss for a long while, murmuring wordless endearments, wandering hands. Lexa turns when Clarke presses against her sides, guiding, and soon she’s settled under Clarke’s weight, humming and moaning and tipping her head back to bare her throat for Clarke’s teeth. Clarke reaches out for the box. “We don’t have to,” she says, the way she always does, but Lexa makes a noise, eager, and Clarke sits on Lexa’s hips to open the box, the hinges gliding. Lexa’s collar is curled into a loop on the velvet lining, gleaming, and Clarke dips her head to breathe in the smell of the leather. Lexa’s eyes fix on her fingers, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. 

“Anya told me something.” Clarke picks up Lexa’s phone, fingers tapping, the box resting at her side. She knows Lexa’s code and she smiles when she sees the background, Clarke leaning across a cafe table, winky and beaming. She opens the browser and Lexa yelps, fumbling to snatch it from her hands. Clarke pouts. “You’ll show Anya and not me?”

“I changed my mind,” Lexa mutters. “You and Anya should go back to hating each other.”

“We still kind of hate each other,” Clarke tells her, even if that’s not quite true. “But now we can hate each other and still tease you. Show me the video?”

“It’s not a video,” Lexa says with a sigh, taking the phone. She taps, swipes, and turns the screen sideways, showing Clarke. It’s a gallery, a few snapped photos. A girl with long brown hair, bright green ropes wrapped around her limbs. “It’s just--I thought you would like it.”

“I love it,” Clarke breathes. She rolls over, sitting on Lexa’s hips and tracing her torso, her biceps, her wrists. “Green would look so good on you. Something soft and braided. Webbed around you--” Clarke pushes Lexa’s arms up, arranging her, then dragging her fingers across her skin. “Here,” around her shoulders, pinning her arms up tight, “here,” around her breasts and across her ribs, “here.” She reaches back, tickling Lexa’s thighs. “Tie your shins to your thighs, keep your legs up so high and open for me.” Lexa nods, jerky, her eyes shut. She moans, whisper soft.

Clarke slides off Lexa’s hips to sit at the edge of the bed. “Come here,” she murmurs. Lexa rolls off the bed, liquid grace, lithe and slender and strong, and slips off her pants and underwear until she stands in front of Clarke, naked and gold-tan, her pulse fluttering visibly quick in her throat. “Clarke,” she whispers. Her fingers twitch, and Clarke tips her head, scrutinizing. 

“You need something,” she says, soft. “Ask, baby.” Lexa’s throat works. She makes a begging sound, frustrated. Clarke puts steel in her words, her voice twining around them like a cage. “Show me what you need.” Lexa loops her index finger around her wrist, touching her thumb, a circle. She tugs sharply, then flushes, looking away. “Okay,” Clarke soothes. “I got you, baby. Come here.” She pats her thighs and Lexa slides into her lap with a sigh, relaxing as Clarke rubs her back, her shoulders, closes a palm around the back of Lexa’s neck and shakes her, gentle and firm all at once. Lexa rests her forehead on Clarke’s shoulder and breathes, wet and shivery, and Clarke’s hands wander from the small of Lexa’s back down to her ass, squeezing. 

“My good girl,” Clarke starts, low and darkly edged, and Lexa tenses. Clarke drops her voice, softer and easier and coloured with her love. “Baby, you have any idea how much I love you?” Lexa jolts, almost straining away, and Clarke tightens her grip on the back of her neck. “I love you. Taking care of me the past few days, cuddles and soup and tea and crackers and little texts all day to keep me going. How perfect you are; how lucky I am, to have you.”

Lexa presses close, her eyes fluttering shut. “You have me,” she repeats, mumbly, and her words have started to slow, go spacey. 

“And you have me,” Clarke promises. “Kneel for me, baby?”

Lexa slides from her lap without hesitation, folding at Clarke’s feet, her hands on her thighs, her weight back on her heels, her head tipped down and her eyes flickering up to meet Clarke’s gaze. Clarke slips the collar around her throat and watches the bliss flow over Lexa’s face, the last of the tension sliding away from around her eyes and mouth and between her eyebrows. When she opens her eyes, her collar buckled firmly around her throat, her gaze is hooded, dark; open and soft, relaxed. Clarke stands, a little shaky herself, the last of her orgasm still thrumming through her, her clit pulsing to see Lexa track her moving across the room to a drawer, the collar bobbing as Lexa swallows. Clarke rests her fingers on the lengths of velvety rope, tempted, but she thinks it’s best for another time, a longer session where she can wrap Lexa up snug in pretty patterns and watch her muscles stand out defined against the web of silk on her skin. She finds the plush ties instead, and stands just behind Lexa. She drops one of the ties against Lexa’s spine, drawing it up, tickling, and Lexa shivers once before dropping her forehead to the floor, completely bowed. 

“Okay?” Clarke asks, and Lexa nods her head against the carpet, dragging in wet raspy breaths. Clarke reaches down, dragging her nails in long lines up her back, from her left hip to her right shoulder, leaving angry red scratches behind. Lexa moans, arching back into the stinging pleasure, and Clarke sucks her nails, Lexa like pennies on her tongue. She makes a dark, satisfied noise and Lexa shivers again. “Bed,” Clarke orders, and Lexa uncurls herself, crawling onto the bed slow and fumbly. She drops onto her belly and spreads her legs. She’s already wet, softly gleaming, and Clarke’s stumbles at the sight of her. “You’re gorgeous,” she blurts, pure emotion, shocked and breathless. Lexa humps the mattress once, grinding down, and moans. She lifts up onto her knees, her chest still pressed flat, and widens her stance, wiggling, presenting. She trembles. 

“What are you,” Clarke asks, her eyes moving, greedy, from the collar snug across Lexa’s skin, her marks in Lexa’s back, the fading hickey on Lexa’s neck, the way Lexa holds herself perfectly still, hips tilted up, eyes closed. 

“Your good girl,” Lexa says, dreamy and pleased. Her trembling intensifies. 

“I’m going to paint you one day,” Clarke says, sliding onto the mattress behind her. “No face, so I can enter it a contest somewhere.” She smacks the bottom of Lexa’s ass, the junction of her thigh, and Lexa jolts. “How could it not win first prize, look at you. Dripping.” She lays her cheek against Lexa’s thigh, above the bright red mark of her hand, and watches Lexa clench around nothing, desperate. “Gorgeous.”

Lexa makes a noise, deep in her chest. “Please,” she whispers, barely audible. Clarke dips her head, tasting, and Lexa twists away before pushing back--Clarke has already withdrawn and Lexa whines, bereft. 

“You’re not in charge,” Clarke says, teasing. Lexa sucks in a breath and Clarke watches, careful. “Take what I give you,” she growls, and Lexa exhales, sharp. She drips down her thighs. “Say it.”

“Take what you give me,” Lexa says, and her muscles give out, flopping onto the sheets before scrambling back, lifting her hips again. “Good girl,” Clarke croons, and slips back inside, two fingers along her tongue, stretching just right, pulling Lexa back by the hips into her face and breathing deep. Lexa shakes continuously, almost violent, holding herself perfectly in position. She locks up and Clarke _sucks_ and she comes, exhaling deep--but doesn’t move an inch, clenching and keening and flooding, dripping wet and sticky down her thighs. “So good,” Clarke breathes, a last kiss against Lexa’s swollen cunt. 

“Thank you,” Lexa mutters; there are teethmarks in the pillow and this position isn’t good for her back and Clarke pulls away. “Thank you, miss.”

Clarke pauses, faintly surprised. “Is that what you need,” she asks, and Lexa tenses; Clarke nips at her back, her ass, her thighs, until she settles, relaxing. “Okay, baby. What are you?”

“Your good girl.” Clarke slaps three fingers against Lexa’s clit and Lexa jumps up the bed, her shoulder knocking into the headframe. “Your good girl,” she says again, “your good girl, miss.”

“On your back.” Lexa rolls, one shoulder down and her body flopping over, until she’s on her back, legs spread wide. She lifts her hips up, her feet bracing and her knees bent. Clarke crawls around her, straddling her head and facing down Lexa’s body. “Show me Red.” Lexa rests a fist on her belly. She shows three fingers. “Good girl,” Clarke praises, and sets her weight down, slow and firm. Lexa eats her out, desperate and messy and holding her head still for Clarke to grind, sucking in quick messy gasps when Clarke lifts up for a few seconds before pressing down hard. Clarke rests a hand against Lexa’s throat, to feel it work as Lexa sucks and licks, rubbing down to flick lazily at Lexa’s nipple.

“Good,” Clarke breathes, tipping her head back and rolling her hips in a lazy circle. She tightens her hand, very slightly, and Lexa moans, the sound rumbling through Clarke’s fingers, up her cunt. “Christ,” Clarke chokes, already close, her blood humming. “Being so good for me,” she manages, and Lexa licks into her, her air running out, “so good for miss,” Clarke says, and Lexa sucks her clit, whining, her hips jerking up, and Clarke comes, her spine bowing as she shakes apart. 

Clarke melts down on Lexa’s body, flowing, her chest against Lexa’s belly. She kisses Lexa’s clit, chaste, upside down, then nips. Lexa sobs, twisting, spreading her legs wider. “I owe you three, right?”

Lexa’s eyes roll back, the whites showing. She whines again, high and reedy, and Clarke nuzzles her in her most intimate place, soft and dripping and burning hot, her clit rigid against Clarke’s nose. Clarke sucks at her, sloppy, messy, smearing Lexa’s slick along Lexa’s thighs, her own face. Lexa makes continuous noise, groaning and gasping and needy little sobs, Clarke’s name coming out garbled. Clarke slides her foot back--it’s awkward and she has to go slow to avoid kicking Lexa in the throat, and she’ll have to figure out a more gainly way to do this, next time, but she manages to catch the edge of the collar with a toe and tug it, very slightly. Lexa shouts, arching up, and is coming before her hips land back on the mattress, shuddering. Clarke makes her tongue gentle and tickling, barely there licks and soft sucks, enjoying the flex and twist of Lexa under her mouth. She rolls onto her side, then her back, and taps her hips. “Good girl, baby. Come here for miss.” Lexa drags herself onto Clarke, slow, her arms giving out the first time she tries to get up. She flops over Clarke and purrs in her ear, licking affectionately. 

“Thank you miss,” she mumbles, and Clarke can feel their hearts beating through their chests, pressed together. 

She smoothes Lexa’s hair, twining it between her fingers and, once in awhile, pulling sharply. Lexa’s purring increases. “One more?” Lexa twitches against her. She makes a sound Clarke can’t quite parse. “Tell me.” Lexa quivers, and Clarke gentles her tone. “Tell miss what you need.”

Lexa sighs against Clarke’s neck, warm and cuddly. “More,” she whispers, “please.”

Clarke strokes down her spine. “Stay here,” she says, holding Lexa close. “Stay with me.” She slips her fingers into Lexa, the angle slightly awkward, squished between them, but Lexa sighs and opens up for her, beautiful and easy, and Clarke fingers her, lazily, no rhythm or pace, and they slide against each other, sweaty and moving hard and soft all at once, and Lexa comes with her mouth pressed to Clarke’s, Clarke breathing in her exhale and giving it back until they’re dizzy, spinning, and Lexa slumps into her side, eyes shut, Clarke rolling to cover Lexa with her body. She slips the ties around Lexa’s wrists and secures them to the bedframe, taking a minute to massage Lexa’s arms, her forearms and biceps and wrists and fingers. Lexa stirs, eyes fluttering. Clarke cradles her jaw. “Okay, baby? Color.”

Lexa blinks, rapid. “Wha-?” Clarke waits, petting Lexa’s neck and collarbones, tickling her nails around the collar. Lexa tugs at her wrist, comprehension dawning. She swallows, Clarke’s fingertips bobbing on her throat. “Green,” she says, finally, and Clarke narrows her eyes. “Green,” Lexa says again, more firmly, seeing her looking. Clarke reaches over, fumbling with something on the nightstand, then slides down until her chin is digging into the thick muscle of Lexa’s thigh. 

“Next time,” she says, soft, “next time I’ll tie your legs out too. Fit a vibe just--” she flicks Lexa’s clit and Lexa gasps, arching. “--here, and leave it on high, tie it down tight.” She bites Lexa’s thigh hard. “You won’t be able to do anything except come and beg me to stop.”

Lexa goes boneless. “Green,” she says, desperate, and Clarke hums, pleased.

“Ready?” She murmurs, and licks straight into Lexa before she can answer, aggressive. She makes a loose seal with her lips and slurps, as loud and obscene as she can, and Lexa groans, long and pained, her legs spasming. It goes up an octave when Clarke pulls back, sucking a hard angry marks into Lexa’s hips and thighs. She slides a finger beside her tongue and Lexa yelps, her body twitching up the bed away from Clarke’s mouth. 

Clarke grabs her by the hips, yanking her back, and Lexa sobs, writhing. Her breath comes out in tiny punched from her chest gasps, and when she comes her cry is more stark relief than release--it transitions into a desperate noise when she realizes Clarke isn’t planning on stopping, her tongue gliding frictionless, dragging her teeth across Lexa’s clit without mercy on her way to bite cloudy black bruises into her inner thighs. Clarke presses a single dry thumb against Lexa’s asshole and her whole body arches up, taut, painful looking, and her last orgasm crests in waves of violent shivers, her voice breaking in the middle of each moan, a long minute before she collapses. 

“Stop,” she whispers from bitten lips, “Clarke.” Clarke kisses her, tastes a little drop of blood on the bottom corner where Lexa had sunk her teeth too deep. She drags her tongue across it and smears it across Lexa’s lips before sucking it away. She bites down, gentle, and smears the next three drops of blood across Lexa’s face, down her chin, across Clarke’s cheek. “Please,” Lexa manages, and Clarke shushes her. 

“We’re done,” she murmurs, and Lexa goes limp in relief. Clarke unties her, her wrists slightly red, and nuzzles Lexa until her small hitching sobs even out into regular breathing, her eyes closed peacefully. Clarke waits for a moment, then starts to get up. Lexa’s eyes fly open. She doesn’t move, frozen, tensed. Suddenly her cheeks flush, she cringes away. Clarke settles back beside her. “It’s okay,” she says. “I know. It’ll pass.”

She pulls Lexa closer, one armed, and reaches over to smack at her phone on the nightstand. Lexa’s still stiff in her embrace, and Clarke bites the back of her neck. “None of that,” she murmurs. “You were beautiful. Sleep now, Lexa.”

Lexa flinches, minute. Her hands come up to her collar and twist, fretful. Clarke undoes it, letting it drop from her fingers to the floor, and Lexa eases against her, snuggling back. 

++

Clarke wakes up at noon from an odd dream, and she cracks her neck and rolls over to check the time. She’s surprised to feel Lexa at her side, moved slightly away during the night but not far enough for Clarke not to feel her warmth. It’s rare for Lexa not to be stirring by now, and Clarke slips onto Lexa’s back to wiggle and be annoying and check on her. Lexa grumbles, throwing an elbow back that nearly catches Clarke in the temple. “Grouchy,” Clarke says, her voice rough from sleep.

Lexa pulls the blanket over her face and squirms lower. “Go away.”

Clarke pokes her in the back, through several layers--no wonder she woke up, Lexa’s got every sheet and blanket wrapped around herself in messy layers, wound around and around. A little bit of her hair spills out and Clarke tugs on it. Lexa growls. “C’mon Lexa. Time to get up.”

“Lexa’s sleeping,” Lexa snaps. She kicks Clarke’s leg. Clarke blows a raspberry against Lexa’s forehead, almost unbalancing off the bed when Lexa jerks upright, affronted. She gapes at Clarke, and Clarke smirks, and finally a little smile tugs at Lexa’s mouth. She curls against Clarke, her face peeking out from her swaddled linens. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. But you need some sugar and protein, let’s go.”

Lexa glowers, her face darkening like a stormcloud, petulant. “I don’t like orange juice.”

“Then two glasses of water. Big ones. I mean it.” Lexa mutters, agreeing, but doesn’t move. Clarke pokes her again and Lexa snuffles, irritated. 

“Five more minutes.”

“No.” Lexa whines in protest, wheedling. She aims a sad pouty face Clarke’s way, and Clarke sighs, nosing forward to lick Lexa’s cheek. “Fine. Only five, though.”

But Lexa is so warm, and so here, and so loving, affectionate and snuggly, and isn’t coming down as hard as she has before; more coasting, wanting Clarke’s hands on her skin to ease her back into her head, and it’s almost twenty minutes before they putter out to the kitchen, Clarke drinking orange juice straight from the carton and Lexa fussing with the Brita filter, cracking eggs with one hand and curling fingers around Clarke’s waist with the other. 

++

“I have a meeting,” Lexa says, sitting at the table and casting faintly doubtful looks Clarke’s way every so often, darting glances from her files and her legal pads to the stove Clarke’s currently glaring into submission. “In the city. Next week, they’re putting me up at the Hilton for the weekend.”

“I have it off,” Clarke says, stirring the pasta and leaning against the fridge to yawn. “Want me to come with?”

“Yes,” Lexa says, and there’s something--Clarke looks at her for a long minute, eyes narrowed. She points her rubber stirring spoon accusingly.

“What are you planning, you sneak?”

“You’ll have to see.” Lexa smirks at her, then looks alarmed. “Clarke--”

“Shit!” Clarke turns, batting at the smoke billowing up.

++

“Holy shit,” Clarke says, leaning to peer at her reflection in the tinted window while Lexa talks to the driver, loads their bags into the trunk. The driver steps around to open the door and Clarke scrambles into the back of the limo. “Holy shit!”

Lexa slides in beside her, the door thumping heavy behind her. “You like?”

Clarke points to the interior around them. “Holy shit!!”

Lexa smiles, pleased. “The firm offered. I thought you might enjoy a ride in style.”

“Kiss me,” Clarke says, fluttering her eyelashes to make Lexa’s smile grow, “this is everything I dreamed of when I locked you down as a future lawyer wife in college.”

Lexa kisses her, smiling big and happy, and they giggle into each other as the limo pulls into traffic, sliding on the leather seats. Lexa produces a bottle of champagne from somewhere and Clarke holds the flutes still while the cork pops, foam sliding down Lexa’s fingers and dripping into the footwell. “You’re beautiful,” Lexa murmurs, and Clarke chugs her drink before putting the glass to the side to straddle Lexa’s lap. She tastes like expensive champagne and the egg whites they had for breakfast, buttered toast and dry bubbly, and her fingers slide up Clarke’s shirt. “Put the divider up,” she says, and Clarke leans over, Lexa bracing her, to find the button that cuts them off from the driver. Clarke meets his eyes in the mirror just before the dark visor goes up, and he looks a little knowing. She shrugs at him, eyes flicking to Lexa; who could resist, she thinks, Lexa in slacks and a crisp button up, legs spread, a flush starting in the hollow of her throat, drinking champagne straight from the bottle, slender fingers dangling splayed across the bottleneck?

“How long is the ride?” Clarke asks, nuzzling into Lexa’s neck with a satisfied noise. 

“Long enough,” Lexa promises. She plays with the waistband of Clarke’s jeans, dipping inside and then drawing back, teasing. Clarke nips at her jaw, playful.

“What if I want to enjoy the view?” Lexa’s eyes go dark. She turns Clarke until she’s sitting in her lap facing outward, her back against Lexa’s chest. She undoes Clarke’s button and Clarke’s breath hitches. “Holy shit,” Clarke breathes, her heart pounding as Lexa drags her zipper down, agonizingly slow. Lexa lips quirk against the back of her neck, smiling. 

“Enjoy the view,” Lexa reminds her, and Clarke rolls her eyes. She opens her mouth to sass back and moans instead, Lexa’s fingers pressing against her through her underwear, teasing pressure. “How attached are you to these panties,” Lexa muses, calm and a little thoughtful. 

Clarke groans. “Don’t be a--” Lexa rolls her fingers in a circle and Clarke’s voice hitches. “--don’t be a tease.” Lexa slides lower, spreading her legs wider, and guides Clarke until she’s slumped back against Lexa, her hips trembling as Lexa plays with her, lazy and slow, Clarke’s breath dragging from gently parted lips. Lexa hums against her neck, and makes pleased, satisfied sound when Clarke is soaked through, rubbing a little harder. 

“You feel good,” she whispers, setting her teeth down into Clarke’s shoulder, nudging her shirt aside and sucking hard. “So wet.”

“Fuck,” Clarke says, squeezing her eyes shut. Lexa nips again, hard enough Clarke jolts, shivery. 

“Keep your eyes open,” she says. "And keep quiet. That glass isn't soundproof."

Clarke moans, opening her eyes with an effort, looking sightlessly at the traffic, the cars. “Fuck the view,” she pleads, “touch me.”

Lexa withdraws and Clarke whines, protesting. Then she shudders, because Lexa slips her fingertips into Clarke’s mouth, pausing to rub Clarke’s slick over her lips, down her chin. Clarke suckles at her fingers, tongue darting between them, drawing them further into her mouth and swirling. “You’re beautiful,” Lexa says again, breathless, and keeps her fingers in Clarke’s mouth, Clarke’s head tipped back against Lexa’s shoulder, Lexa’s lips on her neck as her free hand slides beneath her panties at last, swiping and roving and stilling only long enough to press on her clit before going into her, soaked and eager, all the way down to her knuckle. Lexa thrusts, testing, and Clarke lifts her hips up, rocking. She feels heady, flushed; wanton and shaky, and loses track of time, her world narrowed down to Lexa’s quiet breathing and the coiling in her belly. 

Lexa fucks her with one finger, her thumb brushing over Clarke’s clit every so often, her teeth tugging on Clarke’s earlobe. “Please,” Clarke says, garbled, and hardly recognizes her own voice; high and reedy and then low and broken, “Lexa.”

“I like the way you say my name.” Lexa gives her another finger, crooked and searching, and Clarke’s orgasm crests without warning, rolling through her body from her head to her toes. She pulses, clenching, and Lexa makes an encouraging noise, speeding her pace until Clarke’s teeth sink into her lip and she feels connected to the earth only in the places Lexa’s touching her: her throat and her back and her hips and inside, Lexa’s fingers moving in and out, working her through to a second orgasm easy as breathing. She collapses back, shuddering, Lexa slipping out of her mouth but staying still inside her, twitching her fingers every so often to listen to Clarke’s breathing hitch, a soft kiss pressed just under Clarke’s ear. Lexa reaches out, taking a sip of champagne and holding it without swallowing to kiss Clarke, the bubbly liquid slipping warm from her mouth to Clarke’s.

++

Clarke is asleep when the limo slows in front of the hotel, against Lexa’s shoulder, her limbs heavy and sated. Lexa nudges her awake and kisses her when she grumbles. She pulls on a sweatshirt and keeps her hood up, yawning and letting Lexa lead her through the lobby, hands linked. She leans against Lexa’s side and tunes out Lexa talking to the check in clerk, the bellboy. Lexa tips him and shuts the door to their suite and Clarke disengages to flop across the bed, shoving the mint on the pillow to the side to smash her face into the pillow. She can hear Lexa moving around the room, the rustle of her clothing as she changes and the flick of the light switches. Lexa touches her hair and Clarke makes a sleepy questioning noise. 

“I’ve got to go to the meeting. I’ll be back around four, we leave for the gala at six.”

“Nap,” Clarke mumbles, “you killed my brain.” She’s still wet, not quite enough to make her want to get up and change, but enough to feel it when she moves, and every so often her heartbeat thumps strong, sending a wave of tingles through her. 

Lexa kisses the back of her head. “I’ll wake you when I get back?” Clarke nods, and is asleep before she hears the door click shut again.

++

“Lexa!” Clarke yanks the bathroom door open, mascara wand in hand. 

Lexa looks up from where she’s adjusting her hair in the mirror. “Yes, my love?”

Clarke mimes sticking her finger down her throat. “Sap.” Lexa smiles at her in the mirror. “There’s a jacuzzi in this bathroom, Lexa. This bathroom is bigger than our bedroom.”

Lexa blinks at her. “It took you twenty minutes to notice how big the bathroom is?”

Clarke slashes her hand through the air impatiently. “Is this what you’ve been all smirky about?”

Lexa slips one last bobby pin into her hair and turns. “Who am I to deny you your dreams,” she teases, and Clarke grins. 

“Bathtub sex,” she says, gleeful. Lexa leans against the wall to slip her heels on and Clarke finishes her makeup in a rush, going over to her luggage and slipping a box from the inside pocket. She waits until Lexa is dragging her tie through her shirtcollar. “Hold on.”

Lexa arches an eyebrow. Her eyes fall to the box in Clarke’s hand. She inhales, sharp, and her nostrils flare. She sways towards Clarke. She licks her lips and darts her gaze to meet Clarke’s. “Clarke?”

Clarke steps close. “Let me.” She parts the first button with her nails, then the second, baring the hollow of Lexa’s throat. She kisses it, tongue licking, and presses to feel Lexa’s pulse against her lips. She pulls back and looks at the spot, shining wetly. She blows a kiss at it, breath huffing, and Lexa slumps a little. The collar in the box is thin and flat and Clarke settles the buckle low, where it bobs as Lexa swallows. She buttons Lexa’s collar up over it, flips it down, smoothes. “I can see it,” she whispers, tracing it through the fabric. “Just because I’m looking for it; the littlest bulge. And I know it’s there. And you know it’s there.” Buckled just right, just tight, that Lexa will feel it the whole tight, pulling across her throat when she moves. 

Lexa’s eyes are halfshut, her mouth parted. Clarke kisses her, filthy, then steps back. Lexa breathes through her nose and smiles. “Come on,” she says, taking Clarke by the hand. She drops a kiss to the inside of Clarke’s wrist and links their fingers. “Let’s party.”

++

The music is good and the food is good and the bar is open and Clarke is having a good time, trailing after Lexa, smiling as Lexa introduces her, proud when she says _Dr_. Clarke makes small talk and sips her cocktails and watches Lexa’s throat, eyes fixed. Lexa sees her looking and flushes, turning her head and taking a gulp from her glass to hide her blush.

Clarke is stalking one of the waitstaff through the crowd when Lexa returns from a quick word aside with a partner from her firm. “Clarke,” she greets, grinning. 

“Bacon asparagus,” Clarke says, drawn up short from her pursuit and sighing. Lexa blinks at her. “Nothing.” Clarke kisses Lexa, quick and sweet, chaste. “What’s up?”

“Dance with me?”

Clarke glances through the crowd. “Yes,” she says, and Lexa draws her out onto the dancefloor, moving slowly to the music. “You should sing along,” Clarke says, leaning her forehead against Lexa’s. “If this was a movie, you’d serenade me softly. Right now.”

Lexa spins them once, making their hair flutter. “This is an instrumental.”

“Not my problem. No prince charming patch for you, cubscout.” Clarke lays her head on Lexa’s shoulder, their steps slowing until they’re barely moving, swaying gently. 

Lexa smiles against her temple. “How about the junior partner at a prestigious law firm patch?”

Clarke jerks her head up. “You did?”

Lexa’s smile blows wide open, glowing. “Just signed the paperwork. You’re looking at the youngest junior partner at the firm in the entirety of its existence.” Clarke beams at her. 

“I knew you could,” she murmurs. “My brilliant girlfriend.”

Lexa’s eyes go dark. “Couldn’t have done it without you. I know it wasn’t the easiest.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says with a straight face, “not like medschool, where I once stayed up for sixty three hours and tried to fight you for taking off your socks too loud.” Lexa smiles again, and Clarke touches her collar through her shirt. “Brilliant girl. My good girl.”

Lexa steps back and grips Clarke's hand. They walk through the large hall, smiling politely, and Clarke snags them both a glass of champagne, Lexa leading her winding hallways to a stairwell. “Where are we going?” Clarke asks, after two flights up. 

“Here.” Lexa presses her against the wall and drags her hand up Clarke’s nylons. She kisses Clarke, her chin, her jaw, then scrapes her mouth down Clarke’s throat, her lipstick smearing. She traces two fingers up Clarke’s thigh, Clarke’s leg hooking around her waist, pulling her closer. She meets Clarke’s center, dripping, and moans when her fingers get wet, nothing between Clarke’s cunt and the nylons.

“Surprise,” Clarke says, her head thrown back against the concrete. Lexa presses her knee close and drops her hands to Clarke’s hips, breathing against Clarke’s shoulder as they move, fumbled and rough and clumsy, Lexa bumping her back into the wall, Clarke’s hips lifting as she rides and grinds. 

“I want to taste you,” Lexa mutters after a few frenzied minutes, and Clarke claps a hand over her mouth as she moans. “I want your come on my tongue.”

Clarke pushes at Lexa’s shoulders. “Get them off.”

Lexa kneels, pants creasing, and parts Clarke’s legs with her hands. It takes two tries, but she rips Clarke’s nylons, the fabric tearing as Lexa strips open enough room to wrap her hands around Clarke’s ass and urge Clarke’s legs on her shoulders, lifting up as she slams her palms against the wall and licks into Clarke without warning or teasing. Clarke shouts, once, echoing in the stairwell, and then bites her wrist, muffling her sounds into her skin. She comes with sparks in the corners of her vision, and when she opens her eyes the colors of Lexa’s tie and the burning in her eyes are brighter, clearer. She can smell herself in the air and taste herself on Lexa’s tongue and after they break their kiss Lexa frees Clarke from her nylons and balls them up, tucking them in a pocket and Clarke slips her heels back on and they say their goodbyes, kissing sweetly in the back of a cab and stumbling through the lobby, making out in the elevator and taking four tries to unlock their suite door. 

Clarke shoves Lexa onto the bed and yanks at her shirt, the buttons ripping and flying to the floor. Clarke drags her fingertips across Lexa’s collar, bared, and Lexa rides her thigh, bucking and wild; Clarke reaches into her jacket pocket and finds her nylons, shoving them into Lexa’s mouth, spilling out across her chin, and rumbles into Lexa’s ear, filth about how good she smells, how good she tastes, thick and stringing on Clarke’s fingers swiping through her and obscene sucking, her fingers in her mouth, in Lexa’s so she can taste herself. Lexa moans, continuously, until she slumps, limp. 

++

“It has jets,” Clarke gushes, pulling a sleepy eyed Lexa with her into the bathroom. “I had a bath basket sent up. Probably horrendously overpriced, but _look_.” The huge tub is steaming, swirls of pale greens twining around fizzing bubbles, the room smelling sweetly of pine. Clarke undresses Lexa, smiling pleased when she traces her own nailmarks, bitten bruises, and they step in together, leaning close and settling with twin exhales. “Ooh,” Clarke breathes. “I swear, when we buy a house we need one of these.” She winks. “Junior partner money, baby.”

Lexa traces her ankle, delicate. “Chief of Surgery money.”

“I’m not waiting that long for us to buy a house.” Clarke moves, the water sloshing, and they sit with their shoulders touching, heads leaned back, until Lexa makes an impatient noise and shoves herself between Clarke’s legs. Clarke leans back against the edge of the tub, Lexa pressed against her front, slid low, soft slippery skin, the steam rising off the water to tickle her nose, and dozes, vaguely aware of Lexa’s hands sliding down her sides, her hips, her calves. “It’s gonna get cold,” Clarke says some time later. She fondles Lexa’s breasts, fond and affectionate, and Lexa murmurs into the water, blowing bubbles. She spreads her legs and guides one of Clarke’s hands down her body until Clarke’s fingers nudge at her slit. “Wait.”

Lexa sighs. “Perils of dating a doctor,” she muses, and sits up, reaching for the stopper. 

Clarke stills her. “Bacterial infections are fun for no one,” she says, pulling Lexa back. “Hold on, though, because--” she pokes at the control panel on the wall, and the jets rumbles to life around them. Clarke holds Lexa’s back against her with a hand splayed on Lexa’s belly, flowing them across to a corner. “Since you think it’s worth the risk?” She braces her knees on the bottom of the tub, reaching out to grip the edge as she maneuvers Lexa into position--she knows she’s got it right when Lexa yelps and jolts, climbing up out of the water for a second before pushing herself back. Clarke shoves forward, bracing against the wall, and holds Lexa down, the jet pulsing a strong stream of water directly on her clit. Lexa writhes, twisting and crying out; her voice echoes in the tiled room. Suddenly Lexa flinches, arching, quivering; after a few seconds she slumps, so abrupt Clarke fumbles to catch her before her face hits the water. They rest for another minute, Clarke slapping at the wall until the jets click off.

“Bath sex,” Clarke says, satisfied. “I told you so.”

++

Lexa’s up at seven the next morning. She kisses Clarke on her way out, tucking the blanket up around her waist and whispering she’ll be back in time for a late lunch. Clarke flaps a hand at her and rolls over, asleep in the very next second. She wakes up because Lexa had left the curtains pulled open, and the sun is too bright on her face. She ambles to the bathroom and then sits cross legged on the the bed to watch shitty daytime television.

Lexa comes in with takeout and a fond kiss, and they watch a western, snuggled up on the king sized mattress, feeding each other with their fingers and giggling. “We have all the rest of today, right?”

“Mm,” Lexa agrees, setting the boxes aside and stretching. She darts forward to lick the grease off Clarke’s lips. “Checkout at ten tomorrow, but the limo will be here by nine.”

“So,” Clarke says, slow, “we have time. If you want.”

Lexa is quiet for a moment. “We’ve had a lot of sex this weekend,” she muses, proud.

“Tired of me already?”

Lexa kisses her nose. “Never. Let me shower first?”

“Of course.” Clarke checks to make sure the do not disturb sign is on the doorknob, pulls the cover and the topsheet off the bed and bundles them to lay on the desk. She goes into Lexa’s traveling backpack, where she keeps her laptop, and finds her noise canceling over the ear headphones. She plugs them into her phone and lays them on the nightstand, tosses the travel sized bottle of lube onto the mattress. 

Lexa emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, naked, and Clarke slips out of her own clothes, kicking them aside. “Come here.”

Lexa comes to her and they kiss, easy. Clarke lays her out on the bed and settles next to her, one leg thrown over Lexa’s hips. Lexa sighs, wiggling. “Clarke.”

“I can’t believe how great you are,” Clarke starts, and Lexa’s eyes flutter shut. “Smartest girl in the whole world in my bed. I love you.”

Lexa licks her lips. “I love you,” she murmurs, hoarse, blushing slightly. 

Clarke settles the headphones over Lexa’s ears. She lifts one up. “Show me Red.” Lexa shows three fingers and Clarke kisses the curve of her ear before settling the headphone on one ear and off the other, so Lexa can hear her voice and hear what’s coming through the headphones. She taps her phone and--she’s listened to this recording maybe fifteen times, and she knows it by heart--Lexa’s first moan rumbles through her chest as she realizes what it is, hearing her own choking sobs and pleading whispers. Clarke had cut out her own voice, preferring Lexa’s sex drenched sounds, the sweet keen of her orgasm. “You just sounded so good,” Clarke whispers in Lexa’s ear. “I want you to hear how sexy you are.”

Lexa’s hips lift into the air and she moans again. “Hands in my hair,” Clarke says, and Lexa obeys. She taps Clarke’s shoulders three times in a row--taptaptap. Clarke hums and slides down her body and parts Lexa’s legs. She’s teasing with her mouth, barely there wet presses and soft slow gentle licking, until Lexa squirms and her moans get louder. She fucks Lexa with two fingers, slow and stretching until she can fit three, and then, her teeth sunk in Lexa’s throat to make her limp and relaxed, four. Lexa’s breath is frozen in her lungs, trembling, and Clarke stays still until Lexa exhales, shuddering, and starts to pant, ragged. 

“Oh,” is all she says, surprised, wide eyed. Then she shivers once, from head to toes. “Oh,” she says again, and Clarke starts to move, really really slow. Lexa knees bend, her feet spread wide on the mattress and bracing, and after ten minutes Lexa is jogging her hips, rolling jagged and pleased, her head tipped sideways on the pillow. She comes again, quivering and breathing out long, her head lolling. Clarke presses her cheek flat against Lexa’s thigh and plays with her, spreading her fingers gently apart inside her, sliding in and out and twisting. 

“Okay, baby?” The light is starting to fade outside and it feels like they’ve been fucking for hours, and Lexa’s come again, barely twitching, her toes pointing and flexing, exhaling in soft pleasure. 

“More,” Lexa says, quiet and intense. “Please.”

Clarke withdraws, watching Lexa’s body cling to her fingers and try to pull her back. She fumbles for the bottle of lube she’d left on the edge of the mattress. It squirts on the back of her knuckles, thick, and Lexa mutters when it goes inside her, cold and slick. “Sorry,” Clarke says, gentle. She points her fingers out, tucking her thumb against her ring finger, and slides in slow, slow, slow. She pauses often, listening to Lexa’s breath quicken and murmuring softly until she’s relaxed again. It’s so quiet in the room, long stretched minutes of their panted breaths and hitched moans.

“You’re supposed to do this with gloves, I think,” Clarke says, quiet. She twists her wrist slightly, finding the right angle, the right position, then withdraws for another liberal dosing of lube. She starts again, even slower, steady pressure. “I thought about the thin plastic ones, but I--” Her fist slides into Lexa with a very gentle give of Lexa’s body, and she stops to look at her hand, buried to the wrist in Lexa’s cunt. “Oh,” she says, gutpunched. Lexa’s eyes are snapped open, her mouth stretched wide. She chokes. 

“Wait,” she gasps, “don’t--”

“Sshh.” Clarke kisses her hips, the inside of her thighs. “It’s okay. I won’t move yet.” Her fingers have curled into a gentle fist, but she keeps herself perfectly still. It cramps, to keep her arm motionless while she holds herself up to lick at Lexa’s clit, soothing. Lexa relaxes, minute by minute, and her clit is stiff and flushed against Clarke’s tongue. 

“Okay,” she whispers. Clarke moves her fingers and Lexa twitched. Clarke rocks in tiny movements. 

“I was going to say,” she says, licking at her dry mouth, her breath huffing against where her wrist moves in and out of Lexa. “That I didn’t want to wear gloves. You feel amazing against me. My skin, inside you. Christ.” Clarke kisses her clit. “You’re perfect. How does it feel?”

“Good,” Lexa says, fumbly tongued and slurred. “You--in me--” she babbles something, incoherent. “Really full,” she breathes after sucking in a harsh lungful of air, “full of you.”

Clarke continues, careful and slow, and it takes longer than she thought, Lexa shivering around her, her face lax and her eyes closed, hips twitching in tiny little spasms and when she comes Clarke can feel it against her palm, the inside of her wrist. Lexa comes for a long time, longer than she ever has before, and groans when Clarke works her hand free, three minutes to ease carefully out of her. And Clarke holds her close, limp, breathing shakily, and traces _I love you_ with her tongue into the side of Lexa’s throat.

Clarke draws another bath, hot water and soothing salts, and they cuddle quietly in the water until it gets cold, Clarke drawing a washcloth across their skin in small circles and kissing Lexa’s soapbitter lips when the foam rises too high.

Clarke practically has to carry Lexa to the limo, after propping her against the bathroom wall and yanking her pants up, folding her arms into Clarke’s sweatshirt. Lexa flops into the backseat, nose tucked into the sweatshirt, and is passed out by the time Clarke’s buckled her seatbelt. Clarke wakes her to swallow half a bottle of water a few aspirin. 

Lexa crawls into their bed, inhaling the familiar sheets and making a pleased noise. She crashes facefirst into the pillow and is drooling within seconds. Clarke pulls her shoes off, lifts her hips to work her pants off. She rolls Lexa one way, then the other, and strips off her own clothes before sliding in between the cool sheets and tucking a blanket around their shoulders.

++

**Author's Note:**

> well if there was any doubt before that I was going straight to hell. hope it wasn't too dramatic /o/
> 
>  
> 
> catch me on tumblr @ feeltripping


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